Waiting Room
by Ms. Quartermaine
Summary: Written for the LJ Tracy Q. Ficathon. Challenge: Day In Life. Someone Tracy loves is hurt, and all she can do is wait.
1. 9:39am

**Title**: Waiting Room

**Author**: Ms. Quartermaine

**Summary**: Written for the LJ Tracy Q. Ficathon. Challenge: Day In Life. Someone Tracy loves is hurt, and all she can do is wait.

**Disclaimer:** The dialogue in the first trauma room scene came from NBC's ER. No infringement intended.

October 23, 2006. 9:39 am.

She gulped down the orange juice before rushing out of the den…just to return less than 10 seconds later.

"Forget something?" Luke held up a brief case and dangled it in front of her. He must have come through the patio doors.

"Give me that," she went to snatch it out of his hands. "And where the hell did you come from?" A mere two weeks earlier, just after returning from Adventure #4359, her husband had set out for another.

"Aww, not happy to see me?" he frowned, leaning in to kiss her on the lips.

Refusing to give him the satisfaction, she moved back brusquely. "You left in search of Skye! I'm your wife, but you go after your mistress," she spat before pausing. "Or is Holly your mistress? You'll have to forgive me for getting confused," she narrowed her fiery eyes at him.

He responded a simple, "She was in danger."

"Robert volunteered to bring her home, but you _insisted_ on joining him. I'm tired of you taking off every 20 damn minutes!" she admitted, wishing she hadn't.

"Aww, you know what that means? You like me! You really like me!"

"Damnit, Luke," she muttered, glancing at the watch that fit around her left wrist. "I don't have time for this. I'm going to be late. I can't be late for this." Short, simple sentences took over her speech. "ELQ's in trouble—"

"That condom thing?"

"Yes, that condom thing," she imitated him. "Your daughter wasn't the only one who ended up pregnant. And believe me, pregnancies are the least of our problems."

"You messed up, huh?"

"It _wasn't_ my fault," she stressed, "but of course, I'm the one that has to fix—Why am I explaining this?" She looked at her watch again. "Give me that!"

Luke obliged, handing her the briefcase. "Careful, Wife. Your fangs are showing."

"Good," she smiled before once again exiting the den for her 10 o'clock meeting.

9:57am.

Tracy Quartermaine, dressed in her navy blue ensemble, took a deep breath as she boldly entered the conference room. Her face met with the faces of two others, the legal counsel that would be representing ELQ should it go that far. Two concerned expressions stared at her. Something wasn't right. _How bad is this? One batch of defective condoms…It's bad, but this?_

"Shall we begin?" she asked, taking a seat at the other side of the table.

The lawyers in the room continued to stare at her blankly.

"Does she know?" one whispered to another.

"Know what, Victor?" Tracy's spoke harshly. She looked at the woman sitting next to him. "Diane?"

"We weren't expecting you this morning," Diane's voice shook. "Tracy, I—"

Tracy didn't know much about this woman, other than her name, but she'd be fool to assume nothing was going on. "What is it, Diane?"

Tracy Quartermaine didn't have to do much to make people nervous. The sight of her entering the room usually had people bracing themselves, especially those people who worked for her and her family's company. But Diane wasn't nervous. She had something to say, something she knew her boss needed to hear. Tracy swallowed hard as a pit formed her in stomach.

"You haven't heard the news at all this morning, have you?"

"I drove in silence today," Tracy responded, very slowly, trying to avoid whatever she was about to be told. She could almost hear the next words out of Diane's mouth, but wouldn't let herself believe it. This was all much too similar to the time she learned of her mother's death. Tracy was delaying something that couldn't be delayed.

"No one's tried to call you?"

Her bottom lip quivered, but not wanting to expose her vulnerability, she kept it together, "My cell is off. I didn't want it interrupting the meeting."

"Tracy—," the woman began.

Victor interjected, "Tracy, go to General Hospital right now. It's Dillon."

He didn't have to say anything else. Within a millisecond, Tracy Quartermaine disappeared from that conference room without uttering a single word. From the moment Diane's voice quaked, she suspected that one of her boys had been hurt, but just as with Lila's passing, she didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to accept that it could be true…

10:09am.

Frantically, she pressed away at the buttons on her cell phone, not realizing that her brother's number had been programmed into the directory. "Come on, Alan. Come on. Pick up." She switched on the radio news just in time to catch the tail end of the _Breaking News_ story. Something about "PCU school shooting."

She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh my God. Alan! Pick up the damn phone!" she shouted into the receiver.

"Okay. Okay. Monica. Monica…," she fumbled through the list of numbers, just as the cell began to vibrate. _Incoming call: Luke. _"Luke!" she shrieked, thankful and horrified at the same time. Their argument from earlier had become a distant memory. This was far more important.

"What's going on? Tell me that Dillon is all right…What do you mean they don't know? Is Alan working on this? Monica? Do not tell me that, Luke Spencer. Family not allowed? Who the hell is taking care of my son?"

She had a million and one questions, more and more forming before she could spit the other ones out. "Okay. Okay. Yes, I'm breathing!" The tears started to fall. "Luke, how did this all happen?"

10:21am.

She stormed into General Hospital, doing the best she could at maintaining her composure, "Where's my son?" she yelled out.

Luke greeted her, "Come on, Tracy."

"I want to see Dillon," she insisted.

Police Commissioner Mac Scorpio approached her, "Tracy, I need you to answer some questions."

"I want to see my son," she stated firmly.

Luke pushed Mac aside, "Save the questions for later, Bubba."

With his arm wrapped tightly around his wife's shoulders, Luke led the way through the crowded halls. Tracy's eyes met with the eyes of the hospital's staff members. No one said a thing. No one had to.

"Luke?" she put on a brave façade. "How bad is it?"

"I already told you. They don't know."

"How can they not know?" she squeaked. "Luke, I need answers! On the phone, you said something about two gun shot wounds. One to the shoulder. One to the leg. Nothing about his heart, right? Or his head?"

"Right."

"Okay. Okay. So, that's good, right?" The walk to the trauma room took extra long. Luke held onto her the entire time, keeping her close, doing his best to comfort her.

"Yeah, that's good," he sounded uncertain.

When Luke and Tracy finally reached the room, Alan, in pure doctor form, came up to them.

"Alan, what's going on?"

"Dillon's been shot," he stated very professionally. "He tried to be the hero. One bullet was meant for the other student; the other one for Dillon for trying to help."

"Damnit! I know that! How is he? Why won't anyone tell me anything?" She was on the verge of hysterics. "I want to see him," she swallowed. It wasn't time to crumble.

"We need to let them work. Come on, Tracy."

He held out his hand, only for her to push it away, "No! You are _not_ a doctor right now, Alan. You are a brother! You are an uncle. Now, let me see him!" she practically bolted through the swinging doors.

Luke went to grab her, but Alan shook his head. "Let her go," he whispered.

"Dillon!" she saw her son, lying in the hospital bed; monitors everywhere.

"Hi, Mom," Dillon put on fake smile.

"Hi, Baby," she refused to let the tears fall. "How are ya?" He looked rather pale, and several machines beeped around him.

"Oh, I've been better."

She let out a little laugh.

"Excuse me," the young Dr. Drake said. "Family's not allowed in here. We're taking good care of him. Don't worry—I'm gonna need CBC lights, PTPT t-type crossovers two units…"

"What the hell does all that mean?"

Alan entered and put his two hands on her shoulders, "It means they're taking good care of him.

"Alan, please stop. Please," she was begging.

"Mrs. Quart—uh, Spencer. You should leave," advised Patrick. "He's in good hands. Don't worry."

"Hmm," she became angry. "My son's hooked up to God knows what, and you're telling me _not_ to worry?"

In a whisper, Dillon said, "Let him work, Mom."

She went to stroke his forehead. "I love you," she said tenderly.

"I know," he nodded. She didn't expect that. An "I love you too, Mom" would've been more ideal for her.

Meanwhile, Luke watched solemnly from the window…


	2. 10:42am

10:42am.

Tracy sat in the waiting room, her face buried in her hands. She had been sobbing quietly from the moment she left her son's bedside. Luke had offered her coffee and a shoulder, but she refused both. Alan spent as much time as possible in the trauma room, hoping to get information on Dillon. Unfortunately, rules were rules, and as the boy's uncle, he wasn't allowed in on the case. He returned to his sister and her husband.

Tracy looked up at her brother, "I need you to be honest. How bad is it?"

"I'm not able to assess him, but I will tell you that his lungs are clear. That's good. Means there's no fluid in them. His blood pressure and pulse rate are also normal."

"Okay," she gestured with her hands. "So, what's the problem? Why do you have this look in your eyes that something's really wrong?" Tracy knew Alan better than anyone.

Patrick interrupted, "Mrs. Spencer?"

"How's Dillon?" she asked.

"We can't find an exit wound for one of the bullets. In other words, it—"

"Is still inside him. I'm not stupid. And you still haven't answered my question, Dr. Drake," she finished harshly, trying to conceal the fear that overwhelmed her.

"He's fine at the moment, but he's going to need surgery to remove the bullet."

"Then, do the surgery," she ordered.

Bobbie joined the group, "Dr. Drake, the X-rays have arrived."

"Excuse me for one minute," he held up a finger.

"Wait. I want to see him again."

Tracy followed him towards the trauma room, but stopped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Tracy," Alan warned. "Let him work."

_Why is he doing this? Why is he acting like a god-damn doctor instead of a brother? God, Alan. What the hell is wrong with you? Tell me it's going to be all right._

She put her thoughts to rest as she glanced up at him. His somber eyes met with hers. He couldn't tell her that it'd be all right. He wished he could.

In that instance, an irritated Monica headed over to her husband and sister-in-law. "What the hell is going on, Alan? You paged me 7 times! I was in surgery for Godsakes. When I don't answer the first time, it means— " She stopped after catching Tracy's pained expression. The woman was her sister-in-law, and she couldn't stand her, but seeing her like that made her want to reach out and offer the poor woman a hug. "Oh my God. What happened?"

"It's Dillon," was all she could squeak out.

Back inside Dillon's room, Patrick and Bobbie examined the X-ray. With her hands on her hips, the nurse asked, "Where's the bullet?"

"Not here," he noted.

"Must be higher in the abdomen, right?" questioned Bobbie.

"Let's shoot a KUB," he began again with the medical terms. "Dillon, your stomach doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No, just my leg," he said rather calmly.

Another machine started beeping, "PBC's on the cardiac monitor," Bobbie noticed.

"What's going on?" a frightened Dillon wondered out loud.

Dr. Drake demanded, "Where's the chest X-ray? I need 60 of lidocaine."

Bobbie put a hand on Dillon's shoulder, "You have an extra heartbeat."

"What does that mean?"

At that moment, Robin rushed through the doors. "I found your bullet," she held the X-ray in the light.

"Oh my God," muttered Bobbie.

Dillon responded, "What is it? Is it supposed to be hard to breathe?" Another nurse rubbed his shoulder and put an oxygen mask over his face. "This'll help," she murmured.

"It's in his heart," whispered Patrick. "Must have traveled through the femoral vein."

"From there to the IVC into the right atrium and ventricle," finished Robin.

Dillon whispered through the mask, "What's going on? The bullet's in my heart?"

"Yes," answered Bobbie. "We're gonna get it out." There was something about her tone of voice that made Dillon want to tremble in fear.

"Notify the OR," Patrick took control. "We're on our way up."

Before the hospital staff wheeled Dillon hurried out of the room, Bobbie exited, and Tracy immediately ran towards her. "What's going on?"

"Dillon needs surgery," Bobbie showed Tracy a clipboard and a pen. "We need your consent."

"You have it. Where do I sign? How's Dillon?" she was speaking rapidly again, while signing the paper. "You haven't answered my question, Bobbie."

"Barbara Jean," pleaded Luke. "Please. She needs to know."

"The doctors are going to take care of him. The bullet traveled through his

heart—"

"How, why, I…" she trailed off.

Alan stepped up, "I'll explain later."

Bobbie continued, "But Dr. Drake is the best surgeon we have, and—"

"No!" she interrupted. "Monica is the best surgeon you have. I want her to operate."

"Tracy," she said calmly. "I'm family. You know I can't."

"Monica, please!" Tracy was practically begging.

"Tracy," Luke said calmly.

"Shut up!" she screamed. "Don't say a thing!" And to Monica, she went on, "Please!"

"Damnit! I can't!" she, too, was on the verge of breaking down. She composed herself, as the doctors and nurses brought Dillon out.

"Dillon!" Tracy ran over.

Luke greeted him as well, "Young Spielberg."

"They're taking me up to surgery," he said; his voice hardly audible.

"I know," she swallowed, gently brushing his hair. Her sons meant everything to her, and she couldn't stand the sight of seeing them hurt or scared.

"Um, a bullet in the heart…um, well, uh, sounds bad. I'm, um, not…I'm not…going to, to uh, d…d…die, right?" he stuttered over his words, and Tracy wanted nothing better than to wrap him in her arms like she did when he was younger and tell him everything would be okay.

"No, of course, not, baby," she responded what any mother would have.

Dillon wanted reassurance, "Monica?"

"Don't worry, Dillon," she tapped his hand.

Tracy didn't accept that answer, "Damnit, Monica! Tell my son he's not going to die."

"Okay!" Dr. Drake took control again. "We need to get him up right now."

"Come on, Tracy. Let them go. They're going to help him."

"Listen to Luke," advised Alan in a soothing tone.

"I want to observe," Monica insisted, as Dillon was being rolled towards the elevator.

"Dr. Quartermaine—"

"I'm Chief of the Department. I've observing whether you like or not."

Tracy shot Monica a glance of approval before looking directly in her son's eyes and telling him that she loved him.

"I love you too, Mom," he responded.

Tracy smiled, softly kissed his forehead, and when the feelings of sadness and sudden emptiness began to engulf her, she excused herself. "I love you," she said again before heading towards the waiting area.

Both her husband and brother followed closely behind; both of them knowing perfectly well that there was nothing either of them could do to make this situation better. Alan paced back and forth, while Luke took a seat next to his wife, and allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder. This time, she didn't refuse.


	3. 11:02am

11:02am.

"Mother!" Ned and Edward all of a sudden seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. "Mother! I just heard. How's Dillon?"

She swallowed hard before standing up and greeting her son with a hug. Luke remained in the seating area, keeping an eye on his wife from a distance.

"They just took him up to the OR."

"And?" Edward wondered.

While running her fingers through her hair, she answered, "One of the bullets traveled to his heart—"

"They're doing open-heart surgery on a teenager?" asked Ned, almost in disbelief.

"Alan? I…Can you explain? I…," Tracy closed her eyes.

"The bullet traveled to the heart through the femoral vein. The surgeons are going to remove it. I have great confidence in my staff. Dillon will pull through." His short sentences didn't sit well with his sister. Almost as though he were leaving something out.

She yelled, "You don't know a damn thing!"

"Mother," Ned pulled her close. "It's okay. He's a fighter."

"Yes, Tracy, my dear," Edward said coolly. "We Quartermaines are fighters. You know that."

Her better judgment told her not to lash out at him. She didn't like this. A father was supposed to be supportive all the time, just not in times of anguish. But Tracy Quartermaine had already screamed at her brother; screaming at her father wasn't going to help.

"He's just a teenager," she noted.

Ned asked, "Is there anything I can do? Would you like some tea or something?"

"What I would _like_ is for my son to be okay," she spit out, each word filled with more venom than the one before.

"He's going to be fine," Ned said, much too unconvincingly. "Monica," he realized. "Alan, where's Monica? Does she know what's going on?"

Alan nodded. "She's going to observe the entire surgery."

"You hear that, Mother? Monica is going to make sure everything goes well."

She softly added, "She still can't operate, Ned."

"It's going to be fine," Edward tried reaching out again. "You have to believe that, Tracy."

"Hmm," she murmured. "You have no idea how much I want to believe that, Daddy."

12:19pm.

The hospital's cafeteria wasn't full at all, considering the time. Tracy sat impatiently, one leg crossed over the other, tapping her foot on the ground.

"You should at least try at eat something, Tracy," Luke urged, offering him his plate of French fries.

"Will you move that disgusting slop away from me?" she gestured, with her eyes shut.

Luke listened. "Sorry. I just thought…What about tea? Would you like some tea? Excuse me!" he called over a young waitress, who walked over cheerfully.

"Hi! What can I get for you?"

"I don't want any tea, Luke. I want Dillon to be all right."

"Just bring over whatever you got."

"Sure thing," she walked away as Luke focused his eyes on his wife. He wished he could see her face, but she wouldn't let him. With her hands folded delicately on the table, she kept her head down and to the side.

"Tracy, she's bringing something over. Will you please drink it?"

"Why are you doing this?" she sighed. "Just go be with Skye."

Luke bit his lip, "Both of us know this has nothing to do with her." For a minute, he wasn't sure where this was coming from. After all, she _let_ him comfort her, let him lend her a shoulder.

"Oh, so I shouldn't be angry about it?" She faced him for the first time since arriving in the cafeteria. Her eyes…moist, red, and puffy. Her cheeks were flushed, and the wrinkles that tried to conceal were more noticeable than ever.

Luke didn't look at her any different than before, "Tracy, I didn't say that, but I can see what you're doing. You can take your anger out on that all you want, but it's not going to change the current situation."

"The _current situation_," she repeated, "is that you once again took off in search of another woman. What about the woman that's your _wife_?"

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? Because I'm not. Yeah, Scorpio volunteered to bring her home, but it wasn't safe. Alcatraz would be a fool if he wasn't on to him."

He shouldn't have said a word. But she pushed him, and he pushed back. It was what they did…most of the time. Unfortunately, this shouldn't have been one of those times, and he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Dillon's condition was the issue on hand here, and while arguing about Luke's latest adventure might've helped Tracy get her mind off whether her son was going to live or die, it wasn't going to change a thing…

"Robert is an international spy." She stood up at the table and cast a glare at the man sitting below her, "Now perhaps you're mistaking me for some blonde bimbo, but I'm not stupid, and I'm _sure_ Robert could've handled Lorenzo Alcazar. Disappear without a trace," she snapped her fingers. "And bring Skye home safely." She continued, her voice softer than before, but the pain and anger still very evident, "But no. You had another chance to take off, and you did. You didn't care about me, or Lulu, or anyone in this godforsaken town that…hmm, I don't know, actually gives a damn about you!" Her sharp whisper hand turned into a shout. Staff and guests were staring.

"Come on," Luke murmured. "Come on. Let's go," he reached out for her hand, that she immediately yanked back.

"Stop!" she yelled at him, before closing her eyes tightly and swallowing. "Don't touch me."

When a security guard walked over, Luke immediately stepped aside. "Is there a problem here?" the officer asked.

"The lady's upset. Her son is in the OR. I'm her husband," Luke explained. "Nothing's wrong."

"I was asking the lady," he directed his eyes toward Tracy's solemn ones.

"Everything's fine," she forced herself to smile.

"Are you sure?" he asked slowly.

"Yes, I'm sure," she mimicked. "Excuse us," she took Luke's arm and allowed him to escort her out of the cafeteria.

"Wait!!!!" the waitress from earlier cried. "I have your soup!!!"

Moments later, Luke led Tracy to an elevator, "Why'd you do that, Spanky? The officer was right there. You could've had him take me away."

"I didn't want to cause an even bigger scene," she revealed, "but that doesn't mean I'm done with you or your compete disregard for our marriage!"

He tried a different approach and suggested, "Why don't you forget about the marriage for one second and focus on what's really bothering you?"

"This is bothering me!" she insisted.

"Tracy," he whispered. "I'm talking about Dillon, and you know it. Look, I'm sorry that you feel I don't take this marriage seriously—" That statement resulted in a Tracy widening her eyes at him. "All right. Maybe I don't," he confessed. "But both of us know you don't give a damn about that right now. So, why don't we put it on hold, go back to the main floor, and see if anyone can tell us about your son?"

"It's my fault," she confessed in a barely audible voice, as she entered the elevator.

"What's your fault?"

She faced the wall, "I should've paid for Dillon to go to that ridiculously expensive film school. I should've never told him he couldn't. Hmm…," she squeaked. "But noooooooo, it was about me, and what I wanted, and do you know what I wanted, Luke?" she turned around at that instant.

"I don't know," he whispered, waiting for her answer.

"Ha! Either do I. I'll tell you what I _didn't_ want though. I didn't want to pay thousands of dollars, so he could do something I thought was a bunch of garbage. I didn't want him wasting his future. And now…Huh, Luke, I don't even know—" She finished almost breathlessly, "I don't even know if he has a future to waste."

Luke's instinct was to pull her closer and hold her to his chest. "Shhh," he tried consoling her. "Shhh…"


	4. 1:57pm

1:57pm

Almost two hours later, and still nothing on Dillon. Each time her cell phone rang, she answered it, hoping that it was someone from the OR with good news. But no…

Instead, she received calls from people such as Jasper Jacks, Georgie Jones, and Robert Scorpio; the first of the calls, the most unexpected. Jax hadn't talked to her in months, but as soon as he heard about Dillon, he dialed the number he hoped to forget, got a hold of the woman who treated him and his friends with little respect (and the exchange was mutual), and even offered to stop at GH. At first, Tracy wanted to scream at him, upset that he chose to call her just because things got tough. She needed her family, her husband, not someone who acted concerned in times of distress. But upon realizing that he indeed was concerned, she made sure not to lash out.

As for Georgie…After the school shooting, Mac made sure she had been taken straight to the PCPD until further notice for her safety. No one told her anything about Dillon or his condition, and as a last resort, she called his mother. Tracy had to give her credit for being remarkably calm, all things considered. Not to mention, the first words out of her mouth were, "Tracy, I'm so sorry about Dillon. How are _you _holding up?" And then came the questions about Dillon that Tracy wished she had the answers to.

Robert called to check up on "Sparks." Skye had been in her room sleeping, but _did_ request that Robert tell Tracy (should he call her) that Dillon was in her thoughts. Tracy almost gagged when she found out about Skye's sympathy, but it wasn't worth an argument. Robert reminded her to think positively, and that if Dillon could outwit a 'Super Spy,' tie him up, and lock him in a freezer, chances are he would get through this. He got extra points for being honest. Not once did he tell her, "Dillon is going to be fine," as others had told her. Instead, Robert just offered his opinion, and she appreciated it dearly.

"Mother?"

Tracy looked up from the newspaper that she pretended to read. "Darling?"

He held out a cup of coffee, "It's not from the cafeteria, I swear."

For a brief moment, she smiled. "Thanks."

He noticed she was all alone, "Where did everyone go?"

She sadly chuckled, "Well, Daddy got called away, and—"

"Grandfather just left?" Ned knew Edward Quartermaine was cruel and callous, but he at least expected him to stick around for this. If not for Tracy, then for Dillon. "Aww, Mother," Ned went to offer a gentle hand.

Seemingly unaffected by her father's actions, she said, "Yeah, well, I didn't even want him here; I just kind of," she shook her head. "Whatever. It doesn't matter, and if you're interested in the others, I asked them all to leave. I, uh, wanted time alone."

"Oh," he frowned, backing away.

"Um, but you can stay if um, you know…you want," she said.

"I'd like that."

She confessed, "So would I—Oh, Ned," she rubbed the bridge of her nose. "What am I going to do if Dillon doesn't survive?" she didn't mean to spring it on him so suddenly. She also didn't mean to make it all about herself.

"Mother, you shouldn't think like that. Come on. Dillon's been through a lot. He'll be fine."

"He's practically still a teenager, Ned, and he's lying on an operating table right now with his chest ripped open, but yeah, I'm supposed to think he's going to be fine," her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Tell me, dear, why haven't we heard anything?"

"I thought no news was good news?" he shrugged.

"Oh, don't even start with the clichés."

"I'm sorry, Mother, but I'm not going to sit here while you ponder whether or not Dillon is going to make it. You're being pessimistic, and—"

"Realistic," she corrected, her voice shaky. Ned saw that she started to tremble. "You have no idea what I'm going through right now," she told him. "No idea—"

"I love Dillon just as much as you do."

"I'm never said you didn't, but I am a parent, and Dillon is my child." Her voice became louder, "Has Brook Lynn ever been hurt like this? I don't think so. So please," she begged, "let me feel how I feel. Pessimistic. Realistic. Who cares? I just…I just…Never mind. Why don't you see if you can find um, Alan. He, um, uh…" She suddenly wanted to crawl up into a ball and cry, and Ned wasn't going to leave her like this. "Ned, what are…what are you waiting for? Just go, please," she blinked back her tears.

"Shhh, Mother," he whispered. "Shhh…"

"Ned, go," she pleaded. "Go, damnit!" She hoped the anger would conceal the grief.

"Shh, shh, shh," he tried soothing her, as he reached out and wrapped his arms around his mother.

"I just…I just…" It hurt to form the words. "I just…want—"

"I know, Mother. I know," he assured her.

"I just want my baby to be all right," she murmured. "I just want him to be all right."

"Shhh, I know," he swallowed, gently rubbing her back. "I know."

3:35pm.

"Is she sleeping?" Luke asked, examining his wife who rested upon her son's shoulder.

"Yeah. I'm afraid to move," he whispered, careful not to awake her from her slumber. "Any word on Dillon?"

He shook his head, "No."

"And Alan, Chief of Staff of the damn hospital," he said sharply, but still quietly, "doesn't have a clue?"

"Oh, come on, Ned. Alan never has a clue."

Ned rolled his eyes.

"I guess no one will tell him a thing since he's family. He's tried getting into the OR, but no luck."

"Monica's in there though, and she's family. What's the problem? Your sister is the surgical nurse, and she's family. Why can't they have someone put in a phone call?"

"What are you asking me all this for? I don't run this joint."

Ned could only sigh.

"So, is she doing all right?" Luke gestured to his wife. Stupid question, he figured. She wouldn't be all right until she heard some good news about her son.

"I'm glad she's getting some sleep. Might help her feel better."

"Yeah…," he looked at the ground, unconvinced.

"Luke? Ned?" an innocent voice seemed to have come from nowhere. Luke raised his head and saw Elizabeth Spencer.

"Elizabeth," Luke said. "What's going on?"

"I just got a call from Monica," she smiled, and Ned and Luke sighed in relief. "Dillon's in recovery. She's been with him since he got out of the OR."

"How is he?" questioned Ned.

"He's still asleep, but he's going to weak for quite while. The doctors do expect a full recovery though."

"Good, good," Ned smiled as he whispered, "Mother. Mother."

She opened her tired eyes slightly and then remembered where she was. "Dillon? How's Dillon?" she asked, almost wishing she was still asleep. Everything had been calm and peaceful, but the minute she woke up, her heart started racing again, and the pit formed in her stomach, and she wanted to breakdown again.

"He's fine, Spunky," laughed Luke. "Monica's with him. Doctors expect a full recovery."

She exhaled and ten years had been removed from her face. "Can I see him?"

Elizabeth explained, "The anesthetic hasn't worn off yet, and there's still a tube helping him breathe—"

"Whoa. Whoa. Tube? Why?"

"It's common after cardiac surgery, but I've been told that he's in good condition. You'll also see a chest tube for fluid drainage, and—"

She rubbed her temples with her index and middle fingers, "Why are you telling me this instead of Monica? Or instead of Alan? I just—"

"Mrs. Spencer, I can bring you up to his room, but I thought you would want to be prepared. Oh, you're also going to need to gown up."

"Fine, whatever. I just want to see my baby."

"Follow me," Elizabeth said.

"Ned, Luke, could you find Daddy and um, Alan? Let them know."

"Done," Ned smiled, holding up his cell-phone.

3:50pm.

Monica was examining a chart, when she saw Tracy peering through Dillon's window. Instead of signaling for her to come in, she came out. "Tracy, how are you doing?"

"I'd be doing wonderfully if you let me sit by my son."

Monica held the door open, and gestured for her sister-in-law to enter. "Uh, Trace, I'm sure you've been told this, but he's going to be fine. He really is a tough kid."

"Well, look who is mother is," she joked, never taking her eyes off her son. The monitors continued to beep, but the erratic, piercing sounds from earlier had become peaceful and rhythmic. "He looks so, um, frail," she swallowed. "Are you sure that um, everything's going to be all right? I mean, why is the tube still there?" she pointed to the intubation tube.

"Most cardiac surgical patients are extubated within 24 hours—"

"I have to wait 24 hours?"

"But, Dillon's young," Monica calmed her. "Low-risk. It should only be a few hours."

"And the chest tube? And what the hell is the probe for?" she pointed to Dillon's neck line.

"The chest tube is for draining fluid, and the probe goes down into his heart, so we can measure his blood pressure and cardiac output directly. Did Elizabeth say anything about the wires on the left?"

Tracy recalled the walk up to the room, "Yeah, even with her 15 minutes of nursing experience, she explained." She covered her mouth with her hand. "Uh…I…"

"Precaution, Trace. That's all. I know this looks bad, but believe that he's going to be all right."

"I'll believe what you tell me. Is he going to going to be all right or not?" she asked again, her frustration very much evident.

"Yes," she assured her, with a hand on her arm. Tracy had known Monica for long enough to know when she had her doubts, and fortunately, she couldn't detect a note of uncertainty in her voice. "He just had open heart surgery," Monica continued, "and it's going to take some time for him to recover, but just relax. It's over now. You made it. He made it. Barring complications, which we—"

"Monica, what kind of complications?" she became concerned. "I thought you said everything was going to be fine."

"Most complications can be treated successfully, and the rest are so rare, and like I said, Dillon's isn't even a high risk patient."

"What were you just saying then?"

"Barring complications, which we shouldn't have to worry about—"

"Shouldn't," she mumbled, staring at ground. "I guess it really _isn't_ over then, is it, Monica?" she finished harshly, glaring at her sister-in-law. She almost wanted to take it back. Monica had been so good to her during all of this, and it wasn't her fault that complications could arise. "Look, Monica—," she spoke in a much softer, gentler tone. "I'm—"

"I know," she murmured.

"No, I—I'm, um…I'm sorry. And, thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

She swallowed hard before continuing, "Just thank you."

"You're welcome," she placed a hesitant hand on Tracy's shoulder and was surprised when she didn't pull away at all.

"Can I have some time alone with Dillon?"

"Of course, but I should remind you that—"

"I know. He's very weak. Um, is he going to hear me?"

"It's possible."

"All right, um, thanks again."

"Mmm hmm," she patted her on the shoulder before leaving the room. When Tracy was sure that she was out of sight, she walked over to her son, gently took his hand, and whispered, "Hi, Baby."


	5. 4:53pm

4:53pm.

She never left his side. Told him that she loved him more times than she could remember. Apologized for not sending him to the best film school in the state. Apologized for hurting him. Revealed that he gave her and the Quartermaines quite a scare. That she couldn't imagine life without him. That he meant the world to her. And then, she begged him to wake up. "Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. Come on. Wake up for Mom."

The sound of the creaking door startled Tracy. "Sorry, Mother," Ned walked in.

"Darling, you look like a doctor, all dressed up like that," she laughed.

"As do you," he noted the blue surgical gown she also had on. "Uh, how's Dillon?"

"He's not awake yet. I didn't think it was going to take this long." She looked at her younger son, "Dillon, when are you going to wake up for us? Are you not waking up because you don't want to talk to me?" She laughed quietly. "Oh, darling, I wouldn't put that past you."

Ned chuckled as well, "I'm sure that's not the reason. He should be up soon."

"I hope so," she stroked Dillon's hair with her finger. "I hope so," she repeated.

5:45pm

"Why isn't he up yet?" Tracy remained at her son's bed side. She asked Luke, who had been sitting with her for the last half hour or so, "Will you go find Monica?"

Luke stood behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. "Sure."

"Thanks."

"Oh, Tracy," he said, before exiting. "About earlier…"

"I don't want to discuss Skye right now or your unexplainable fondness with her. I asked to you get Monica. You agreed. Now, please. Get Monica," she stressed.

"Just because I went after her doesn't make me any less fond of you or our marriage."

"You have a _hell_ of a way of showing it. Now excuse me. If you won't get my sister-in-law, I'll get her my—"

"Tracy," he stopped her. "Look," he motioned to the boy under the hospital blanket who had just moved. Seconds later, his eyes fluttered open.

An excited Tracy put her hand on his shoulder and responded, "Dillon, baby?"

He tried to speak but realized he couldn't. "Hi there, darling," she spoke soothingly. "Luke, dear, would you be so kind to—"

Before she could finish, he was out the door.

"They're going to take that tube out, okay?"

Her son could only nod.

"She'll be here any minute," Tracy said, glancing over her shoulder, waiting for sister-in-law and her husband to re-enter. "Any minute," she repeated. Tracy cupped Dillon's hand in hers. "It's got to be pretty scary being alone in a room with a mother like me and not being able to speak," she joked, and she could've sworn that her son tried to smile. "Don't worry. Monica's coming—"

"Monica's here," the blonde-haired woman said upon walking in. Luke stood next to her. "She was just around the corner."

"Because I had a good idea that you," she pointed to Dillon, "would be waking up soon. So, how do you feel about getting this tube out of your throat?"

"Monica, don't be stupid. Just take it out," Tracy ordered.

"All right, Dillon, big breath, and when I get to three, blow the best that you can. Got it?"

He gave a thumbs up.

"Okay. One. Two. Three—," she pulled the tube from his throat which resulted in a sickly, gagging noise that almost made Tracy want to gag herself. Instead, she immediately poured his some water and held it where he'd be able to sip it. "How are you?" she asked her son.

"Tired," he answered so weakly that it made her want to cringe. He looked better before the surgery.

"Maybe you shouldn't talk," she suggested.

"What happened?"

Tracy's heart fell to her stomach, "You, uh, um, don't remember?"

"I was shot, right?" he let out a quiet coughing sound.

Tracy sighed, and the let the oxygen return to her lungs. Dillon did remember after all. "Yeah, but you're going to be okay."

"My heart—"

"They removed the bullet," Monica stepped in.

"The other kid—"

"Is going to be fine," Monica responded, "And your mother is right. You shouldn't worry about talking right now. Between the intubation and the anesthesia, it'll be better if you wait, okay?"

He gave another thumbs up.

"Looks like you got yourself an official signal," Monica noted. "Dillon, the doctors had to open up your chest to get the bullet out. If I'm going to be honest, you're going to be sore for a long time. You will, however, recover."

_Barring complications. _Tracy sadly thought to herself. Out loud, she wondered,

"Is there anything you can give him for the pain?"

"Yes, but only so much before his blood pressure gets too high."

Tracy directed her eyes towards Dillon's, "Are you in a lot of pain now?"

"Not too much."

His mother knew it wasn't the truth, "Don't lie, sweetheart."

"I'll, um," he coughed. "Let someone know if, um—" He had difficulty completing the long sentence.

Tracy placed a tender hand on his chest, "Shhh. Shhh."


	6. 6:59pm

6:59pm.

With each breath, his chest rose and then fell. Thankful that her son's breathing seemed to be normal, Tracy Quartermaine focused her attention to the pale features of his face. "Ooh, goodness, Dillon," she grasped his hand in hers. "Oh, God. I love you," she said. "Hmm." Tracy let herself smile. "I guess it doesn't matter how much I tell you that if I don't show it. I should probably work on that, huh?"

After a deep sigh, she continued, "I guess this means I should do what 'good' mothers do and take you out to lunch. Okay, but what boy wants to have lunch with his mother?" She laughed again. It felt good, seeing as it wasn't something she did often. "All right. Let's try again. What if we watched one of your old movies together? In your room at the mansion? No one would ever have to know except us. And I promise I won't scoff at your fondness of film, which reminds me…" She recalled Dillon's rather recent and abrupt decision to switch career paths.

"Dillon, you're not serious about pursuing a career at ELQ, are you? I just don't think it's what you want. I mean, does it make you happy? I just want you to be…Oh, look at me. Talking to you when I know perfectly well I'm not going to get an answer—"

"Those are sometimes the best kinds of conversations," a voice whispered.

Tracy slowly turned her head and saw that her husband had been eavesdropping, "How much did you hear?"

"Just the ending. One-way conversations are the best kind."

"Yeah," she laughed quietly. "When Dillon's sleeping, he can't argue with me."

"I'm sure you're not giving him a reason to argue." Luke walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "He's going to be fine. You know that, right?"

"I'd like to think so," she swallowed. "It's just um, hard, seeing him like this. And it's not even the first time. You remember the epidem—"

"Spunky, it hasn't even been a year, and of course I remember it. I'm the idiot that brought the disease to Port Charles."

"That," she pointed her index finger at him, "was an accident, but yeah, you're still an idiot." She laughed to herself again until she realized her son was still in a hospital bed. Still frail. Still hooked up to things she couldn't pronounce.

Luke noticed that her smile faded, "Tracy?"

"Hmm?" she took her eyes off Dillon for a moment to look at her husband.

"Have you thought about getting some sleep? I could have Bobbie set something up in another room."

"Um, no thanks." She reminded him that it was seven in the evening, and that she had fallen asleep earlier. Plus, with Dillon out of the OR, she refused to leave his side. Luke surprised her when he offered to sit next to him while she relaxed elsewhere, but she still chose not to leave her son.

Luke felt his cell phone vibrating and glanced at the number. "It's Lesley Lu." Before he could answer, the vibration stopped. "Ah well, I'll get this later. We, uh, well, we talked this morning."

"So you know…," she pointed out.

"Yeah," he sighed. "She said you made her go."

She felt the need to defend herself, "It's not boarding school, Luke. It's a retreat for freshmen in college organized through PCU. The Jones girl was even going to go until she teamed up with a professor for some research project."

Luke finished, "She also said I should thank you."

"Ha. You're lying."

"Yeah, she hates it."

"Damnit, Luke," she slapped him slightly. This was the bantering she missed.

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm sure your intentions were good. And, if it Lulu wasn't there, she'd be at PCU, and uh—" He didn't need to finish that statement. "Well!" he held up his phone. "I should go call her." Luke's exit coincided with Alan's entrance. "Dr. Q."

"Luke Spencer." The doctor paused and stared straight into Luke's eyes. "You better be treating my sister well." The words were almost threatening.

"It's fine, Alan," she said, as she signaled for Luke to go. "I'm just looking out for you," he replied before she could get a word in.

"I'm not five years old anymore."

"No, but you're still my sister."

"Okay," she motioned for him to stop. "You're being maudlin, and unless you want to see my vomit," she pointed to her mouth, "on your shoes," she gestured to his shoes, "I suggest you don't continue."

"Well, I guess this means you're feeling better." He walked over to the foot of Dillon's bed and grabbed his chart.

"Actually, no," she whispered. "Um—"

"I heard about Father," Alan said in a sympathetic tone. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she immediately answered. "Um," she eyed her brother, who was examining the chart. "Are the doctors doing everything right?"

"Everything looks good."

"Good," she nodded, knowing that her brother would never lie to her about something like this.

"It'll take some time for him to heal, but he will, and that's what matters the most."

"How much time?'' She had numerous questions, and while there was no doubt that Alan wouldn't answer each and every one of them, she wasn't sure if she wanted to make him sit and listen to her.

"About three months, but there will be improvement with each day."

"That sounds like a doctor's answer and not a brother's one," she noted, "but I'll forget about that and move onto another question."

Alan rolled over a chair and positioned himself so that he was facing her. After putting the chart aside, he asked, "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know about every single complication that could arise from the operation. Each one, Alan. Even the rare ones that Monica's convinced I shouldn't worry about."

"She's right. You shouldn't worry."

"I don't care. Tell. Me. Everything." And without further hesitation, Alan did…

8:14pm.

Her back started to ache from the way she had been positioned for the last several hours. Luke Spencer didn't expect to walk in see her stretching…

"Spunky! How come you don't ever do those moves for me?"

"Oh, please," she muttered. "You are disgusting."

"I'm just doing what I do best…"

"Hmm, getting under my skin?" she placed her hands on her hips.

"You got it. Come here. Let Lukey make it better." When she refused to walk over to him, he walked over to her. He proceeded to massage her shoulders, and Tracy, against her better judgment, savored every minute of it. The closeness had never felt so right. His warm touch made her forget about all those times he ran out on her to chase another woman. "How am I doing?" he asked.

"Mmm, wonderfully," she said airily, her eyes closed.

"You're not going to use this as an opportunity to tackle me and grab it where it hurts, are you?"

She let out a burst of laughter, recalling the one time that _did _happen, and then Lulu walked in and thought the worst. For some strange reason, she had laughed more in the last several hours than in the last week. It didn't seem normal, not with Dillon in this ailing condition.

"Are you?" he asked again.

She turned around and looked at him, "Nah, but it's a nice thought."

Luke smirked, "You're cute, Wife, you know that? Hey, have you eaten anything since breakfast?"

"A Nutri-grain bar from a…God help me…vending machine," she shuddered at the mere mention.

Luke just smiled, "Wanna get a bite somewhere?"

"'A bite?' You're kidding, right?"

"Whatever, Trace. So as long as you eat _something_. We don't even have to leave the hospital. You won't be far from Dillon, but—"

"I'm not hungry," she insisted.

"You should be," Ned popped into the room with a brown bag in his hands. "Don't let the paper bag deceive you. The food comes from the MetroCourt. Jax had it prepared especially for you."

"Oh, God, did he poison it?"

Luke laughed under his breath, and Ned replied, "Mother, Jax is a good friend."

"Of yours."

"Oh, you two have had your moments," he snickered.

"Okay, enough," she put up her hand.

"Look, Mother. Jax wants to help. Let him."

The aroma of the food began to take over the room. Tracy couldn't quite identify it, but it was splendid, and while she'd prefer a smaller meal to a large one, she'd take anything right now. Luke was right. She was hungry, and she needed to eat.

"Well…," said Luke. "You know how I feel about your Kangaroo friend, but I agree with Ned. I'd eat whatever's in that bag if I were—"

His words were cut off by a penetrating beeping sound coming from one of the machines that surrounded Dillon.

"Oh my God, Dillon!" she almost wailed, attending to his side once again. "Dillon! Ned, Ned, Lu—," she noticed that Ned had left the room to find a doctor. "Luke," she squeaked, sounding as fragile as she felt. "Dillon, sweetheart, come on. Don't do this," she practically begged him, not expecting him to wake up. "Sweetheart?"

He started coughing, "What's…what's happe…," he kept coughing.

"Shh, baby…Shh," her hand shook as she stroked his hair. "Shh…"

"No," he told her. "It's…," he let himself close his eyes and tried to swallow, "Hard…," his cough became worse. "Hard to breathe?" Tracy finished, almost passing out herself. With his eyes closed, her son nodded.

She didn't want to the tears to fall, but she had no control of her emotions anymore. Luke had remained quiet, not wanting to interrupt, but when he noticed that his wife's entire body started to tremble, he stepped in.

"Tracy," he whispered, surprised that she bothered to even glance up at him. He wished she hadn't because she seemed more lost and empty than ever. The once strong and fierce woman was crumbling in front of him, and he couldn't bear to see her like this. He needed to get her out of the room.

"What's going on?" Monica busted through the doors, followed by Dr. Drake. Bobbie and Elizabeth were not far behind.

"Shortness of breath, continuous cough," Luke responded, practically dragging Tracy away from Dillon's bedside. She wanted to yell at him and tell him to stop, but she didn't have the strength.

"Low blood-pressure," Bobbie noted. "80 over 50."

Elizabeth put an oxygen mask over his face, "This'll help with the breathing."

Monica listened to Dillon's lungs, "More chest pain than before?"

He nodded, hoping he could stifle his cough.

"Dr. Quartermaine," Dr. Drake said. "You shouldn't be on this case—"

She ignored him, "Cardiac output is dropping due to fluid build-up," she made note on the chart. "Pericardial effusion."

"You sure?" Dr. Drake asked.

Tracy and Luke exchanged worried glances. Both of them were concerned about the young doctor's doubt.

"He has a chest tube."

"He needs another," Monica said, starting to prepare.

"Monica?" asked Dillon. "What's…What's happeni—"

"Shh, shh," Elizabeth tried to calm him.

Dr. Drake suggested, "We should get an echo."

"What is that?" Tracy managed to ask, as she noticed the signal Monica gave Luke. "No, Monica. Let me stay. Please," she pleaded.

"Come on, Tracy," Luke led her out of the room. She heard Dr. Drake mutter something about epinephrine, "What's that going to do?" she asked.

"It's going to help get his blood pressure back up," Bobbie kindly answered, as she assisted Luke in getting Tracy out of the room. "Take her somewhere else, Luke," she whispered.

"Come on, Tracy," he said again, but she didn't respond. She just stood frozen in her place, outside the room, as the doctors and nurses worked furiously on her son. It was quite possibly one of the worst situations a mother could be in…


	7. 9:20pm

9:20pm.

Infuriated. All the staff members told her he'd be fine, that complications were rare, that'd he recover without problems. She put her trust into her brother and both her sister-in-laws. Hell, she'd even trusted her step-daughter-in-law. A family full of medical professionals should have seen this coming.

Melancholic. Still no word on her son's condition. The "echo" Dr. Drake mentioned was just supposed to last 30 minutes. 45 at most. A diagnostic test to see if he had the pericard-whatever that Monica suspected. But, this was no different than earlier. No one told her a thing, and it upset her. She was the kid's mother and deserved to know what was going on—"Monica!"

Relieved to see the familiar face heading towards her, Tracy, desperate for information on Dillon, quickly stood up. Her plans to rush over and bombard her sister-in-law with questions were cut short when a bout of nausea hit her. She felt lightheaded, and seconds later, the room became darker and darker and then…black.

"Tracy!" Luke had been behind her the entire time and caught her.

"Tracy!" Monica also called out, running over.

"Whoa, what happened?" Ned joined. "Is she all right?"

Tracy didn't remember closing her eyes, but she must have since she opened them to find herself being held in her husband's arms. "Dillon. How's Dillon?" He was her number one priority.

"Good. Blood pressure is normal. The second chest tube drained the fluid. But you're the one I'm concerned about right now."

"She hasn't eaten since breakfast," Ned informed her.

"That's not true," she corrected. "I had a granola bar. Monica, please. What happened with Dillon? Did he have the pericard—"

"Pericardial effusion. Yes, fluid built up around the heart and compressed it."

"Where did the fluid come from?"

"The fluid is supposed to be there, but the bleeding from the operation caused there to be a substantial amount—"

She rubbed her forehead, "All right. I need to sit. Monica—," she continued. "I don't get it. Are you saying…Are you…," she inhaled before letting the air out. "I…"

"Trace, I'm not finished. I'm going to explain. But, I'd feel better if you could eat something in the meantime. "Ned or Luke, could one of you find her some crackers?"

"There's soup crackers in that bag." Ned pointed to the brown paper bag from earlier, under a chair in the waiting area. "The soup, I'm sure, is cold, but the crackers—"

Monica finished, "Are perfect."

"I'll eat after you tell me about Dillon," Tracy insisted.

"No," she took charge. "You'll eat _while_ I tell you. Got it?"

"All right. Fine," she gave in. She cared about Dillon right now, not being in control.

Luke looked under his seat and took the crackers out of the bag, "Want me to feed her, Dr. Q?"

She ignored him, "Tracy, bleeding after the operation is common with one of the drugs we gave him. It's heparin, and it's used to thin blood to prevent clotting—"

"Alan mentioned something about that." Tracy remembered the long and informative conversation she had with her brother.

"We lowered the dose of the drug. Drained the fluid. His hemocrit, the um," she gestured with her hands while she tried putting it into English, "That's the red blood cell percentage of his blood volume. It dropped slightly, so we gave him two units of blood. Tracy," she paused, debating whether or not she should continue. "This is one of those complications that can be treated successfully."

"Are you saying I shouldn't have been worried?" she asked a bit harshly as she nibbled on a cracker.

She responded a simple, "Of course not."

"How's he doing now?"

"Fine. He's resting comfortably. He looks good, Tracy. Much better than you if I'm going to be honest."

"That's not funny, Monica."

"You _do_ look kind of pale, Spunky."

She put her hands over her face, "I'm fine. I just…Can I sit with Dillon?"

10:12pm.

Visiting hours were over, but Alan had made special accommodations and allowed his sister to remain in her son's room, which was lighted dimly.

"Goodness, Dillon," she laughed at her son. "You're sleeping more now than you did when you were an infant. You know, I don't know if I ever told you this, but years ago…Years, years, years ago. You weren't even a year old. I, uh…Ha," she muttered. "Your father and I took you on your first vacation. Just me, Paul, and baby," she whispered to herself, trying to remember what that trip was supposed to be like. "Anyway…Well, we had an unfortunate encounter with Ned and Jenny, and—," Tracy cut herself off. Reliving the moment of catching her son in bed with that insipid little woman wasn't something she wanted to do. "Okay, I…I guess I should get to the point, huh? You cried that whole first night. You would not believe how much trouble I had getting you to sleep, and now…" She lifted Dillon's hand and put it in hers. "And now," she sighed, "I can't get you to wake up."

He needed his rest, and she shouldn't have been pleading with him to wake up. But he was her son, and instead of speaking _to_ him, she wanted to speak _with_ him.

"Tracy?"

She hadn't heard the door creak open.

"Hi Ned," she turned around. "I was just talking about you," she said, smiling.

"Do I even want to know?" he joked.

"Ha, probably not. Oh, if you're wondering if I've eaten, the answer is 'yes.'"

"Well, you do look much better."

"That's because your brother is doing much better." She gestured to Dillon, sleeping under the covers. "I just wish he would wake up."

"He will."

"Well, gee, Ned, I know that. I'm just tired of waiting."

"You're in a hospital. What did you expect?" he smirked.

Tracy also smirked, "You're annoying me, dear. You know that, right?"

He chuckled. Then, he walked over to his mother, who was still sitting at Dillon's bedside, and put his hands on her shoulders. "He does seem to be doing well."

"Yeah," she murmured. "So, um, what brings you in here?" she turned around and looked upward at her eldest son.

"Just wanted an update," he shrugged. "Glad the both of you are doing okay."

Tracy smiled, "Thanks. Um, any word on your grandfather?"

"Actually, yes, he called from Seattle."

"Seattle, huh?"

"It's got nothing to do with the err, the uh, condom fiasco."

She shrugged, "Of course not. He's leaving that one to me, which is fine. I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can."

Tracy smiled, grateful for Ned's confidence. She knew the reason Edward left the mess to her. He wanted her to fail. He didn't expect her to come through for the Quartermaines, which is exactly what she was going to do – as soon as she knew that Dillon was well.

"Mother?"

"Hmm?"

"Grandfather sends his apologies. He was very glad to hear that Dillon is doing fine."

"Of course. Dillon is the best chance at an heir he has. I, uh—I guess that wasn't called for, huh?" She was being spiteful. Edward, despite his faults, wanted Dillon alive because he was his grandson, his daughter's child. But Tracy Quartermaine was still a bit upset that her father just got up and left, so spiteful she was going to be.

"It's understandable. Very, very understandable." He turned his head to towards the direction of the window. "Looks like you got a visitor."

Tracy, too, turned her head and then signaled for Monica to come in. "Hello," Monica whispered. "How's he doing?"

"You're the doctor. You tell me," Tracy retorted.

"I mean, has he been up?"

"Not since earlier. Is that normal?"

"Mmm, hmm. He's going to be tired, Trace. Exhausted. The anesthetic alone will do that."

"I know. I know…I just prefer that he's awake and uh, alert."

Monica patted her sister-in-law's shoulder. "It'll take some time. Just know that he's getting some much needed rest. Speaking of rest…"

"Monica, I'm fine. I don't need to sleep. I need to be in here."

"Mother, come on. You have to be drained."

Tracy Quartermaine _was_ drained. The last 12 hours had been one hell of a roller coaster. She thought she was going to lose her son. It was a mother's worst fear, and she had gone through it. She almost lost him once as a child. She remembered him being so small and so fragile. She had wanted to cradle him and give him all the love and nurturing he needed to survive, but the doctors wouldn't let her.

This time, he wasn't as small, but still fragile. She would have traded the cradling and the nurturing in for a hug if she could. She wanted to hold him tight and never let him out her site again. Dillon would never go for that though. Tracy smiled to herself. No, Dillon, would never _ever_ go for that. She caught herself sighing heavily.

"Is that an 'I am so tired and should be sleeping' sigh?" Ned wondered out loud.

"No, it's a 'You're irritating me, so please go,' sigh." She was just joking—sort of, but Ned took it as his cue to wrap up his end of the conversation.

"Well," he looked at his watch. "I'm going to head home for the night. I will be back first thing in the morning. Um—" He reached out to touch her arm. "Get some rest if you can."

Tracy nodded as Ned started to head off.

"Um, darling?" she stood up and walked over to him. "Thanks. Thanks for, uh, being there today."

"No problem," he smiled.

Tracy leaned in and kissed his cheek, "I love you."

Initially caught by surprise, Ned responded with what any son would, "I love you too."

"Good. See you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah, uh, good night."

"Night sweetheart," she said gently as her eldest exited the room.

Having been put in the awkward position of watching her sister-in-law and nephew's heartfelt exchange, Monica could only sigh. "Well..."

Tracy just chuckled.

"Well," she continued. "I have other patients to check in on. I'm on all night, so if you need me, I'm here."

"Thank you, Monica," Tracy said quickly.

Monica responded just as quickly, "You're welcome, Tracy."

Both ladies laughed at themselves. Being nice to each other was something both of them weren't used to, but neither of them would ever admit to enjoying it…


	8. 2:16am

October 24, 2006. 2:16am.

"Tracy," a voice whispered. "Tracy."

"Mmm," she groaned. She remained in a chair, next to her son's bed. Her head was down, and it was evident that she had fallen asleep.

"Spanky, earth to Spanky Buns."

"Oh, God, Luke," she raised her head. "Ohh, damnit." She attempted to tilt her head to relieve the stiffness in her neck. "What time is it?"

"About a quarter after 2. I would've been here sooner, but I uh, ended up falling asleep in the cafeteria."

"The place is still open?" Tracy yawned as she let her eyes adjust to the darkness.

"Yes, indeed. You wanna grab something to eat?"

"Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. But um, a coffee would be nice, even if it is from—" she winced before continuing, "the hospital's cafeteria."

Luke held out his hand, "Shall we?" He peered over to Dillon. "Young Spielberg will be fine."

Tracy looked over to her son, who was still sleeping soundly. "Fine." She gave in, taking Luke's hand. Together, the husband and wife left the room.

2:25am.

She sipped the coffee and made a face at the bitter taste, "Ugh."

"Not good?"

"It's fine," she lied.

There was period of silence in which neither of them uttered a word.

"So, Dillon's doing well?" he asked.

"Yes," she swallowed.

"Good," he paused. "Good. Good. Good. "Um, about—"

"Earlier?" She knew where this conversation was going.

"Yeah. Um, listen—"

"Listening," she replied in a sing-song voice.

"I'm sorry."

Tracy's jaw dropped. She never expected to her Luke tell her that. Luke noted that she was surprised and said the words again, hoping that she would believe him, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I hurt you."

Tracy faced downwards.

"Spunky?" he asked, almost sadly.

She looked up at him. "I _really _want to believe you."

"How can I convince you?"

Tracy thought about it briefly before telling him, "You can't. Not yet, anyway."

He raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"It _means_," she emphasized, "Next time you leave, you make sure it doesn't involve chasing a woman that's not your wife. You tell me where you're going and why. You say…you say good-bye, Luke. It's not that complicated," she finished.

Luke seemed relieved, "That's it?"

"That's it," she affirmed. She knew Luke Spencer lived for adventure. She couldn't force him to give that up.

"Well, I can do that."

"Good," she smiled.

"So, you need another coffee?"

Tracy squinted her eyes at the thought of having another disgusting cup. She didn't even plan on finishing this one, "Oh, no. _No_," she stressed.

Luke just chuckled.

4:33am.

Tracy had just finished checking on her son, who still slept soundly. After Monica assured her that everything was normal, Tracy returned to the room across the hall that Bobbie had set up for her a couple hours earlier. Having been too exhausted to argue, she had decided to give in.

"Aww, Spunky. Now, what are you doing?" Luke laid in the other bed, on the other side.

"Oh, go back to sleep."

"I would, but you keep coming in and leaving and leaving and coming in. It makes it hard for me to sleep."

"You are such a baby." She walked over to her bed, picked up a pillow, and tossed it at him.

"Hey!"

"I'm just worried about Dillon, okay?" She sat up in bed like a child and fiddled with her hands. "Each time I fall asleep again, I dream that something's wrong. I had Alan tell me all these complications earlier and I just…I just shouldn't have asked."

"You're too hard on yourself, wife."

"Are you even listening?" She looked over to her husband, who was lying on his back in the bed.

"I'm listening. I'm just—"

"Trying to sleep, I know. I know." She, too, lied herself down. The hospital beds had been much more comfortable than she expected, and she would've been asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, if she weren't worried about Dillon…


	9. 6:53am

6:53am.

Alan Quartermaine entered his sister's room. "Tracy. Tracy," he whispered.

"Mmmm. Oh." She ran her fingers through her hair before placing her hand on her forehead. "Ow." The lack of sleep had given her a pounding headache. Upon realizing where she was at, she asked, "Dillon? What's wrong with Dillon?"

"Dillon's fine."

"No, he's not. Why'd you wake me up then? What's wrong?" She was becoming extremely frantic and desperately wanted to stop herself but couldn't.

"Dr. Q," Luke asked. "What are you doing?" Luke rubbed his eyes.

"You two have a sleep over or something?"

"Now, it is NOT the time for jokes, Alan! Why are you here? What happened?"

"It's almost 7," he said calmly. "You told Bobbie last night to wake you up at 7."

"I did?"

"That's what she told me," he shrugged.

"Oh," she muttered. "So, Dillon is fine?"

"Dillon is fine."

She let out a sigh of relief. "I want to see him." Alan stepped aside and let his sister walk out of her room, across the hall, and into her son's room.

"Hi, sweetheart," she moved closer and took a seat. "You know, I'm jealous of all this sleep you've been getting."

As usual, her son did not respond.

"Wow. This hospital must have you on some damn powerful drugs." She thought for a moment before continuing. "You're going to have to get up eventually. One of the nurses is sure to come in with some slop for you to eat."

"It's not slop," a voice said. Tracy turned around and saw her brother's ex-daughter in law, or was it daughter-in-law? Tracy couldn't remember if their divorce had been finalized or not, and maybe it made her a bad person, but she didn't really care.

"Good morning, Mrs. Quarter, uh, Spencer."

"What do you want, Elizabeth?"

"Dr. Drake has ordered some blood tests. Nothing unusual." She started prepping, and Tracy eyed the instruments.

"So, let me get this straight. You're going to wake my kid up just so you can poke and prod him?"

"I'm sorry. Doctor's orders."

Tracy sighed. She wanted Dillon up so badly, but not like this.

Elizabeth noticed Tracy's fidgetiness.

"I'm just drawing blood. He'll be fine."

Tracy shook Dillon slightly. "Dillon, sweetheart," she whispered gently. "Come on, baby. Time to get up." She felt like the mother, getting her kindergartener up for school. "Come on."

"Hmm, hmm, wha—" Her son started coughing. Tracy's instinct was to put her hand on his chest. "Shh, shh. Uh, Elizabeth? Can we get some water? You know what? Never mind. I got this." She walked over and grabbed the pitcher. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"Fine. Fine," he said, quite groggily.

"You are a horrible liar. We'll have to work on that when you get out of here," she smirked, as she held the cup, so he could drink from it. "Better?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Well," Elizabeth stepped in. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Dr. Drake has requested that we draw some blood. It's completely normal, and you shouldn't worry, but—"

"You're going to stick me with that needle?" He gestured to the tray of instruments that Elizabeth was about to roll over.

"It's nothing worse than what you've already been though."

Tracy rolled her eyes at Elizabeth's phony nurse smile, "Just get it right the first time, all right?" she ordered.

As Tracy turned her head to the side, Elizabeth did what she needed to do. "Okay," she said, cheerily. "I'll get these to the lab. We'll be bringing in some breakfast shortly."

"Yippee. Burnt toast and green jello. I'm sure he can't wait," Tracy resorted to her usual sarcastic self.

Elizabeth smiled, nodded, and exited the room.

"Well, _someone's_ in bad mood," Dillon noted.

Tracy made room for herself on her son's bed, "Darling, I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I was…I was worried about you." Her voice was soft and gentle…Motherly. Almost like Lila's, sans the delicate British accent.

"Mom, I'm gonna be fine," he assured her, trying to stifle his cough. Tracy noticed though and held the cup out for him again, and he sipped, using the straw. "Thanks. Um, so you wanna talk or something?"

Tracy laughed, "You want to talk to your mother?"

He closed his eyes and swallowed, "You just seem like you want to talk."

She smiled at her son. "This isn't about what I want right now. It's about what you want."

Secretly, Dillon loved moments like this. His mother was being well, a mother, a good one, and she had no ulterior motive or hidden scheme.

He decided to make her happy, "Well, we can talk."

It was almost like he was 7 years old again, when she would go to his room right before bed, and the two of them would talk about whatever came to mind. She missed those days.

"So, it was pretty bad?" Dillon asked. "I mean, what happened to me."

"Yeah," she told him softly. She didn't want to relive what happened the night before, but if her son had questions, she certainly wasn't going to turn them down.

Luckily, Dillon realized that she was uncomfortable and decided to change the subject. "So, when do I get to go home? Or back to PCU, I guess?"

Tracy laughed. "I'll have to talk to one of the doctors, but uh, speaking of PCU—"

"Guess I should've never gone there in the first place, huh?" he chuckled.

Tracy swallowed. "It's strange that you bring that up 'cause I, uh, well, Luke and I were discussing that last night. I was uh, saying, I should've just paid for the film school. You wouldn't have been at PCU, where the shoot—"

Dillon started to cough again. Again, Tracy handed him the water. "Maybe talking isn't that good of an idea?"

"No, it's fine. Um, you're not blaming yourself, are you? 'Cause I was just kidding around. Trying to lighten the situation, you know?"

Tracy smiled and then used her fingers to pick some fuzz off his blanket, "It doesn't matter if you were kidding or not. I brought PCU up because…Well, I want to talk you about this whole ELQ thing and these uh, business classes you insist on enrolling yourself in."

Dillon sighed heavily.

"I take it as you don't want to talk anymore?" she laughed.

"No, go on. I'll listen."

"Thank you," she whispered. "Ok, I'll make this as fast as I can. Sweetheart, I might not know your shoe size or your favorite place to uh, what do you teenagers say? 'Hang out?'"

Dillon laughed, "Yeah, 'hang out.'"

"Whatever," she said casually. "Look, hon, I do know that ELQ isn't for you. You love film. It's your dream. I, um, I can tell you a few things about dreams…"

"Will you?"

She tilted her head, "Uh, maybe later."

Dillon continued to listen.

"I, um…Wow. Bottom line, Dillon, is that I don't want you to lose your passion for film. Goodness knows how I feel about _that_ career choice," she muttered under her breath. "But…" Tracy put on a smile. "But, it's your joy in life, darling, and I don't want you to lose that because of a setback, no matter how tragic."

She was talking about Lulu's abortion, not the shooting. "What happened with Lulu was nothing you could control." She paused for a moment, "Well, of course, keeping your pants zipped would have prevented you from knocking up your step-sister in the first place," she added half-comically, half-not.

Under normal circumstances, Dillon might have taken offense. The teenagers used a condom. It wasn't their fault it was defective. But, Dillon refused to interrupt his mother. She didn't give advice often, but when she did, it was damn good advice.

Tracy swallowed before going on, "Sweetheart, this is part of the reason I wanted to prevent Lulu from going through with it. For the rest of her life, she'll have to live with the regret." She was careful not to reveal the truth about her own abortion. "And you, Dillon…You turned into a different person."

Dillon realized that it was truth. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism, but he decided to change. Change could've been good for a person, but not when the person was unrecognizable. Dillon just didn't change his hair and his clothes; he changed his interests, his life choices.

His mother continued, "I am hoping that you can put your business act aside and focus on doing what you want to do. I don't want…I don't want you to die living a lie and never getting to know the joy of being authentically happy."

Before absorbing the words, Dillon asked, "What about you, Mom? Have you ever been authentically happy?"

Tracy was initially surprised. She didn't expect Dillon to turn this conversation around and make it about her. She thought for a second before responding, "Of course I have." And then she started wondering. _Had she_ ever been authentically happy? Sure, there were moments of happiness. When her children her born, for example. And well, being with Luke also made her happy – most of the time.

"Mom?" Dillon questioned. "I didn't mean to um…Well, I was just wondering.

I—"

"No, no, it's fine," she said quickly. "It, um, gives me something to ponder – So!" she said enthusiastically. "Will you consider what I said?"

"Yeah." His mother was right, in what she told him. Dillon couldn't argue something that was the absolute truth. A life in the corporate world wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't his passion. But for whatever reason, he felt like he deserved this punishment, this punishment of dragging himself into a life that he didn't want. But he was still going to keep his mother's words in mind. "I'll consider it."

"Good," she patted his hand.

Just then, Elizabeth entered. "Breakfast's here!"

"Ugh." Tracy pretended to gag. "I don't even want to know what's being served. Dillon, I'll be back soon."

A/N: Special thanks to Deb and Keith for the help with the Dillon/Tracy dialogue.


	10. 8:17am

8:17am.

"Ned! Darling!" Tracy strolled over to her son who just came out of the elevator doors.

"Good morning, Mother. You're in a good mood, I see."

"More or less," she told him. "Dillon is doing well. He's sleeping again, but he's fine."

"That's great."

"It is," she agreed with a smile.

"Spankybuns!" Luke seemed to have come out of nowhere. "I was wondering where you went! Dr. Q came into our room, said Dillon was fine, and then you disappeared!"

"You shared a hospital room?" Ned wondered out loud

"Separate beds."

"Unfortunately," muttered Luke.

"Oh, Luke, stop it!" Tracy warned. "Not in front of my son."

Ned chuckled. "Shall I leave you two alone?"

"I'll find you later, sweetheart," she told him.

Tracy watched as her eldest walked off into the distance.

"So, I take it as Young Spielberg is gonna be fine?"

"Well, he's doing well if that's what you're asking."

"And he's going only to get better," Luke reminded her. He led her back to the waiting area, so they could have a seat. "You want to get some breakfast?"

"In the cafeteria?" She looked disgusted. "I think I prefer the vending machines."

"Wow," Luke laughed. "Who knew?"

"I'll tell you what. I'll try the cafeteria's orange juice, but I want to quickly freshen up in the bathroom first, okay?"

"Sounds good."

Tracy stood up and walked towards the nearest restroom. She entered and saw her sister-in-law washing her hands. "Wow. Everyone is everywhere."

"Good morning," Monica said kindly.

"Morning," Tracy said under her breath as she made her way towards the sink. She didn't have to use the mirror to know how horrible she looked, but she did regardless. Tracy stared at her reflection. Wrinkles and sagging jowls more noticeable than ever. Bags under the eyes. "Wow," she swallowed hard, running her fingers through her flattened bed hair, in hopes that it would help make the rest of her look better.

"Trace, the last 24 hours or so have been an emotional roller coaster for you. You're not going to look gorgeous."

"You know under normal circumstances, I wouldn't be caught dead looking like this," she pointed to her washed out face. "I look like I'm 80."

Monica laughed quietly, "I think that's an exaggeration, don't you?"

"75."

Monica shook her head. "You look like a 55 year old woman who thought her son was going to die last night."

Tracy closed her eyes at the D word. "Monica, can we not, um—"

"Forget I even mentioned it." She rubbed Tracy's arm for a second before leaving the bathroom. Tracy was left alone to splash water on her face. She dabbed her eyes with a paper towel before walking out.

"Is my pretty pink popsicle all done?"

"Yeah, she's done. You could've told her she looked like a truck ran over her."

"Nonsense, Spanky. Nonsense. You're as stunning as you were the night I drugged you and whisked you away to the Haunted Star."

"Ha," she laughed. "Speaking of drugs, what kind are you on?"

The two of them laughed and headed to the cafeteria together.

8:39am.

"…And then I brought up the whole ELQ fiasco, and I told him I didn't want him to give up his passion for film. He loves that. I mean, he really, really loves it."

"It's the reason I call him 'Young Spielberg.'"

"Exactly," she sipped her orange juice which was thankfully much better than she expected.

"So, you think he's going to listen to you?"

"I can only hope."

"So he really just walked into the den one day asking to see the latest ELQ spreadsheet?"

"Yep," she laughed, recalling his combed and flatted hair and the sweater and glasses that he wore.

"Crazy kids."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Yeah…"

9:27am.

Luke and Tracy returned to the floor that Dillon was on. Tracy wanted to go sit with her son again, so Luke escorted her to his room. "What'd Dr. Drake and all those nurses doing in there?" she asked, knowing that her husband wouldn't be able to tell her.

Without further delay, she barged in, "What's going on?"

Her son's appearance caught her attention. He no longer looked as good as he did before. She saw Elizabeth using a cloth to wipe his forehead that sweat dripped from.

"Dillon," she whispered, almost horrified. She rushed over. "Dillon, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

"Mrs. Spencer, can I talk to you outside for a minute?" He sounded very professional.

"You can tell me here."

"I won't have your full attention in here," he insisted.

"Come on, Tracy. Come on," Luke murmured. He had to practically drag her away from her son's bedside. Once they were outside the room, he noticed her tensing up and proceeded to rub her back, "Tracy, you don't even—"

"Alan!" Tracy ran over to her brother who was heading towards her.

"I was just upstairs trying to find you."

She shut her eyes. "Why were you trying to find me?" She asked slowly and breathlessly.

Alan looked towards Dr. Drake. "I haven't explained yet," he told the Chief of Staff.

"Explained what?"

"We should sit," the young, handsome doctor gestured towards the chairs.

"I am not sitting. Tell me what's wrong with my son." She did her best to keep from becoming frantic. She had been in the whole frantic mode the night before. It didn't get her _anywhere_. "You know what? You—" She pointed to Patrick. "—go help Dillon. You—" This finger was directed to Alan, "—tell me what the hell is going on."

"Easy, now, Tracy," Luke told her.

"Don't you easy me," she growled. "Alan! Tell me what's wrong!" she demanded.

"Dillon just spiked a fever. 103 degrees."

"103? Oh my God," she exhaled.

"He's breathing faster than he should, and his chest pain has gotten worse." He made sure to explain in non-doctor terminology.

"Okay," she said rather calmly. "Why don't you skip over the details, and tell me the diagnosis, and what the doctors are going to do to fix it?"

"Dillon's blood work from earlier is being submitted for further tests."

Tracy realized. "You have _no_ idea what's going on, do you?"

"It's an infection of some kind. We put him on stronger antibiotics."

"An infection of 'some kind,' and this is supposed to be the best hospital in the state." She put her hands over her face, as Luke continued to comfort her. "Are the antibiotics going to help?"

"That's what we're hoping." He put a hand on his sister's arm.

"Oh, we're hoping!" She broke free from both her husband and brother. "This is ridiculous, Alan!"

Monica and Ned joined the rest of them. "You found her," Ned realized.

Oblivious to her son and sister-in-law, Tracy inquired, "What's the worst case scenario?"

"Sternum infection. Uh, infection of the breast bone," Alan clarified.

"I know what the sternum is."

"The infection," Alan told her. "Well, it can be life threatening—"

"Oh my God. What am I doing here chatting with you all then? I need to be with Dillon!" she was practically screaming now.

"Tracy, wait," Alan stopped her. "This infection is rare, very, very rare."

"How rare?"

As a cardiologist, Monica knew the facts. ".4 of patients nationwide. We don't even know if Dillon has it."

"But if he does, and you're not treating it…"

"That's what the antibiotics are for," Monica told her.

"Which Alan here is 'hoping' will work! Even if it's not the sternum infection, it's still an infection! One you don't even know the source of!" The stressed woman yanked on her hair and then closed her eyes. "Ugh! Ughhhh!" she screamed again.

"Tracy, shhh," Luke pulled her close. "Shhh." But Tracy pulled away, trying to stifle her sobs that she knew were coming. Ned tried his luck, holding out his hand, "Mother, come on."

"No!" she yelled. "Don't touch me. Don't touch me." She tried holding in the tears. "I just want to see Dillon, okay? Let me see him." Holding in her tears didn't prove to be successful. As the combination of fear and exhaustion overwhelmed her, Tracy Quartermaine started to fall to the floor and cry, and Tracy Quartermaine hardly _ever_ fell to the floor and cried.

Monica and Alan watched solemnly. Ned rubbed his mother's back, and Luke got down on his knees, so he was at her level. "Come on, Tracy. Shhh. Let's go see your son." He helped her up to her feet. "Here we go." Quietly, she leaned on him since her tired and aching body needed all the support it could get. And Luke walked her over to his room.

Dr. Drake greeted them at the door. Before he could speak, Luke asked, "Can she see him?"

He nodded.

"Hi, sweetheart." She tried her best to smile.

"Mom," he whispered. "You look—," he started to cough.

"Shh, shh. I know."

"I think you look worse than me," he whispered.

Tracy tried to laugh, but she couldn't. "Uh, may I?" she asked Elizabeth who was still dabbing Dillon's head with the wet wash cloth. The young woman allowed Tracy to take over the nursing responsibilities. Meanwhile, Luke stood close to his wife; right behind her. He was holding onto her shoulders and watching her tend to her son.

"I love you," she told him, barely audibly.

"I love you too," he told her right back.

Dr. Drake approached them, "I hate to interrupt, but I have another patient. But, uh, we're going to keep your son on the antibiotics and monitor him closely. We'll know more details about the infection in 24 hours."

Tracy looked at her watch.

9:38am.

23 hours and 59 minutes ago was the start of a day that she never wanted to relive in any way, shape, or form. Unfortunately, Tracy Quartermaine wasn't going to get much of an option; she had no choice but to wait _again_.

She peeked at her watch once more.

9:39am.

THE END.


End file.
